Natural
by ShonenAiSorcerer
Summary: Is Aya a natural redhead? Yohji needs to know! Yohji Aya ?
1. Show Me Yours

I do not own Weiss...not even the naughty bits.

Notes: What is this? A few ideas converged here: a homage to my new hair color (Malaysian cherry this time), hostile resistance to the idea that some writers insist Aya's hair is dyed, and writing a fic that hints at yaoi but probably isn't (which is really difficult for someone who really likes to stick Yohji's hands down Aya's pants). I feel like this is really off from my usual fare, so I hope it's not too awful, and if it is, well, I'll make it up with Yohji sticking his hands down Aya's pants! That solves everything . . .

* * *

Natural

* * *

"So what's your pleasure? Young and innocent?" he cast a leering glance at Omi. "Or perhaps I can show you something in long, lean, and luscious?" Yohji threw his arm around her shoulders only to be shoved away.

"I'll call you when I need something slutty, Balinese."

Effectively chastised, Yohji sniffed and flopped down across a chair.

"The target's tastes are fairly simple. Homosexual. Submissive. Generally pretty with pale skin and dark hair."

Omi's brows drew together, Yohji titled his head, and even Aya shifted his gaze to the woman in front of them.

They didn't do pale and dark haired.

"Sorry," Yohji took it upon himself to explain, "That one's not in our pretty boy repertoire. Unless you want us to spray paint Ken . . ."

"No chance."

"C'mon, Kenken. Do it for Manx-san; she _needs_ us."

Manx sighed, pointedly ignoring the languid, suggestive drift of Yohji's hand along his own thigh while he talked. He was incorrigible.

"Abyssinian will do it."

Pushing off the wall, Aya stood a little more at attention, looking far from pleased at the idea. Then again, Aya didn't do ecstatic on a daily basis.

"Uh, no offense Manx, but you have seen Aya, right? Tall guy, red hair." Yohji indicated said man with a jerk of his head.

"You'll dye it," she chose to speak to Aya, handing him both folder and a box of dye which he inspected carefully, eliciting another sigh. "Don't glare at it, Abyssinian. It's costume dye, so it'll wash right out."

"I don't care."

"Hm, I wonder," she refrained from stating out right her suspicion that Aya was just as vain as the resident fashionista they knew as Yohji. Really, what normal man kept his nails manicured all the time? More than once she had seen a suspect sheen across the nails that might have been clear polish. Not to mention his night wardrobe; orange sweater or not, Aya could pull off attractive with surprising skill if the situation called for it. Currently, he was doing his best to convince her otherwise with a glare. "You accept?"

* * *

"Hold still, Aya-kun!"

Something muffled.

"Sorry . . . wait, here."

A hiss.

"Too cold?"

Curious, Yohji ventured through the open bathroom door. Whatever he expected, it wasn't Aya, shirtless, and kneeling by the tub to lean under the rush of water. Omi was presiding, hands wrapped in oversized plastic gloves and wearing an old t-shirt spotted with dark dye. Close beside Aya, he worked carefully to remove the excess dye from the swordsman's hair, pausing occasionally to let Aya wipe his eyes with the edge of a stained towel.

The water cut off. Peeling the gloves from his hands, Omi tossed the towel over Aya's head, guided him to sit up beside the tub, and proceeded to roughly dry his head.

"Aw, Aya," Yohji couldn't resist a comment as he hopped up to sit next to the sink, long legs dangling against the cabinets, "You have such a good mommy. I'm jealous."

A growl came from under the towel, but Omi was having none of it. He tugged a little and kept at Aya's hair until he was satisfied. Pulling off the towel with a flourish, he revealed his work.

Aya's hair stood up, a silky, spiked disarray in jet black. It made his skin appear even paler, and as he finger combed it down around his face, Yohji couldn't help but note the brightness of his purple eyes. When not competing with the brilliant red of his hair, they were attention-getting in their own right.

"Move," Aya ordered, trying to get to the mirror that was currently behind Yohji's back. Rather than getting up, the blonde simply leaned to his left, dropping his shoulder against the wall as he turned to watch Aya examine the results as he smoothed his eartails into place. The dark strands brushed his bare shoulders in stark comparison.

Omi silently cleaned the bathroom, now crowded with the three of them loitering there.

"So why the chibi?" Yohji asked.

Aya lifted an eyebrow (also dyed, Yohji noted) in his direction before tugging on his t-shirt.

Yohji shrugged. "Just thought you'd be good at this by now."

"What are you talking about, Kudou?"

"You know. You dye it red and all."

He was suddenly getting two curious looks, one slightly amused, the other exasperated. Surprisingly, the exasperation came from Omi.

"Yohji-kun, Aya-kun doesn't dye his hair!"

"Eh?"

"Natural redhead," Omi pointed at Aya as if Yohji needed some visual example in order to process the information. Maybe he did.

"No way! That's not a natural color, Ayan."

"Hn."

"Look at his eyelashes, Yohji-kun."

"They're dyed."

Omi huffed again, coming to stand between the two older men and taking Yohji by the shoulder as if to guide him.

"Not eyebrows, eyelashes, eyelashes," he pointed, Aya standing still and allowing the gesture, still with that slightly amused smirk on his lips. Leaning close, Yohji noted the maroon tint of strangely long lashes.

"Mascara," he pronounced.

Omi sighed.

"He was just under the water!"

"Waterproof mascara."

"No chance."

"It's natural," Aya finally defended as he began to gather his things.

"No way! No proof!"

Then, just as he paused in the doorway, "Carpet matches the drapes, Kudou."

Omi was kind enough to catch him when he fell off the sink.

* * *

Sexy goth didn't begin to describe Aya's latest mission dress. Yohji might have called him a Visual Kei reject, but he had serious doubts that Aya _would_ be rejected, at least when he was dressed like that.

His pants were vinyl, honest to god, tight-enough-to-be-painted-on, shiny as shit black vinyl. They hung low on his hips, held up by a studded belt and the grace of god, a full three inches below his shirt. It was tight and caught the light at certain angles, a spandex blend, Yohji theorized from the way to clung to every line of Aya's chest, revealing his nipples as they hardened immediately in the cold rush of air. He looked thin with his flat stomach exposed that way, his long arms bare, and this fed into the uke image the file suggested. The collar helped, an inch-wide vinyl number buckled just above the curved sweep of the shirt's collar and coordinated nicely with his wrist cuffs.

His hair was styled into its usual order, but dark with dye and making him more expected and, yet more exotic for Yohji. He was unearthly pale, that way, and looked damned fragile. Though he knew it was half an act to draw in their target, Yohji was tempted to offer his coat as they stepped out into the chilled air of early December.

He followed silently instead, being a good little soldier and preparing to play sexy backup to Aya's pseudo-seduction.

* * *

It was almost too easy. Three songs and one brush of the hand and Aya led the target to the bathrooms. Six minutes later, Yohji met him at the door, hand out for the jump drive and plastic bag ready to accept the small dagger and bloody gloves that Aya quickly stripped off his hands. Playing the aggravated boyfriend in case anyone happened to be watching, Yohji took Aya by the arm and lead him from the club.

* * *

Aya didn't so much sit in the passenger seat of the Seven as lounge there. Yohji wasn't sure if it was the three shots of whiskey or the exhaustion, but he wasn't going to complain when Aya's usually stiff posture was altered into this. Settled rather low in the seat, he propped one boot-clad foot on its edge, dropping an elbow on the raised knee and resting his head against the seat.

He seemed surprisingly mellow.

True enough, since Aya-chan had returned to the land of the living their antisocial Ice Prince had warmed a little, but besides the sharp tongue, occasional smile, and a few cheerful group activities, Aya wasn't exactly Mr. Super Fun Good Time in Yohji's book. But this slick, sexy version of the swordsman was pretty attractive, attitude notwithstanding. Something, though, was missing.

"I want the red hair back," he said aloud as he pulled the Seven away from the curb.

"Hn."

"It's really dyed, isn't it? You and Omi were screwing with me."

"Stop being stupid," Aya replied. Dropping his bent leg, he relaxed back in the seat to tug up the hem of his tight shirt and scratch a little; the fabric apparently itched.

"It bothers me," Yohji persisted. "I mean, we've lived together for two years; I should have noticed!"

"Why is this an issue?"

"I was a detective. I notice things; it's what I do. And, well," he paused then rushed ahead, "you having bright red downstairs is the kind of thing I should have noticed!"

Aya obviously didn't know what to say to that and chose to look at the road instead. The moon was bright, spilling over him and highlighting his pallid skin, the air rushing past stirring his hair; it gave him a wild, ethereal appearance.

There was a moment of silence, an opportunity to let the matter drop, but Yohji couldn't let it go.

"I had you naked, you know."

"Excuse me?" Purple eyes snapped back to him, anger threatening the mild amusement there before.

"When you came to Weiss, you were in my bed, right? Well, I had to clean you up since Omi was busy fixing the whole mess. And you were definitely naked at one point."

"Kudou," almost a growl.

"I'm just saying, it's the kind of thing I would have noticed! I'm Kudou Yohji; I see these thing! I mean, I know Omi dyes his hair blond and that he doesn't do any work below the belt, and Ken, well, he's definitely a trimmer."

"I don't want to know this," Aya decided.

"I don't really either. What I'm saying is that I ought to have seen _something_!"

"Let it go."

"I can't!"

They pulled into the warehouse parking lot to wait for their contact, and Yohji shut off the engine. It was quiet for a few minutes as the older man started a cigarette and Aya plucked at the uncomfortably tight pants, finally deciding to remove the belt as it was biting into his thin hips. This motion, apparently, gave Yohji ideas.

"Let me see again."

"Go fuck yourself," was the instant reply offered without vehemence.

"C'mon, just a little peek. It's driving me crazy! I'll show you mine."

"I've seen yours."

Okay, that was true. Yohji spent a good portion of the morning naked, and he's been spotted more than once wandering the halls in such a condition.

"Then it's only fair!"

"Don't make me hurt you."

There was pause. Yohji flicked the butt of his cigarette out into the gravel. Then he tried to put his hand down Aya's pants.

There was a fierce struggle, and Yohji took a serious fist to the jaw as he drug Aya's hips towards him. This was followed shortly by a knee to his thigh which he was fairly sure was aimed at his groin. But by then he was leaning over Aya, his upper body in the passenger seat as he circled one arm around the swordsman's back to hold him still and planted a knee between Aya's legs to keep him there. There wasn't much of a solution for the hands that were now yanking at his hair, but Yohji could deal with that.

"You know I like it rough."

"I'll kill you."

Yohji looked down and flicked open the snap of Aya's tight pants; Aya bit him.

"Shit!"

"Get off me!"

"You fucking bit me!"

"Get off!"

"I'm trying, love," he replied sarcastically as he swept his bare hand down Aya's stomach and began to wedge his fingers down the front of Aya's pants.

"You're sick," Aya hissed.

"And you're not wearing underwear, Aya-baby."

Aya stopped struggling and just looked at him; Yohji looked up from his roaming hand to meet his eyes.

"Get your hand out of my pants," Aya demanded.

The hand descended further, approaching a line where play turned to something else. But Yohji didn't cross it, just ran his fingertips over the skin he found a few inches below the waistband of Aya's pants. It was smooth, slightly sweaty from the confinement in the tight vinyl, and delightfully hairless.

"Ahhh." He smirked, leaning close to rest his head on Aya's tense shoulder, his nose nestled in the crook of the other's neck. "There's no carpet here, Ayan, but I think you could make a claim for hardwood if—"

He broke off as a sweep of headlights washed over the Seven, causing both of them to shrink lower in the car, instincts honed by more than one spray of bullets. It was this that caused Manx to find Yohji laying completely on top of Aya, his right hand down the younger man's pants and his left arm catching him in a tight hug while he rested on his thin chest. Yohji rose up and smiled widely at her as she stood beside the car.

"Get off of me!" Aya growled, bad ass attitude, Yohji thought, completely betrayed by the blush spreading across his cheeks. Still, he took it upon himself to take himself off of Aya, pausing to fasten the man's pants before righting himself on the other side of the console and announcing that he needed a cigarette after all that fun.

Aya asked Manx if he could borrow her gun; thankfully, she refused.

"Here," Yohji handed over the data. "You should appreciate the sacrifices we make for you."

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself, Balinese."

"Yeah, well, it's just not the same without the red hair."

Aya was definitely going to kill him when they got home, so he might as well live it up.

"You wanna satisfy my craving, Manx-san?" He winked as he took a long drag off his cigarette.

She scoffed, "It's dyed."

"What?"

~end~

Notes: Review? At least say you support Yohji getting into Aya's pants!


	2. I'll Show You Mine

Chapter Two

* * *

"So, do you shave it?"

Aya didn't jump, but Yohji saw his hand tighten on the towel around his waist. He hadn't been expecting it. But really, there were worse surprises than a beautiful man waiting outside your shower.

"Or maybe you wax."

The glare was aimed at him from beneath wet bangs. True to Manx's word, the majority of the dye had washed easily away.

Shoving off the wall, Yohji crossed the hall to block his escape route.

"If you ever need a hand—"

"I don't."

Yohji shrugged. Casting his eyes downward, he let them roam over Aya's body, zeroing in on his terrycloth-covered crotch.

"Lemmee see."

"No."

"Please?"

Yohji found himself sitting suddenly on his ass courtesy of Aya's one-handed shove. He probably should have been embarrassed, but all he could think was that he might be able to see up Aya's towel if he just scooched forward.

Ow. Damn. Okay, touching Aya's naked calf in the process of scooting oneself across the floor was not a good idea. It, in fact, led to hitting. And Yohji just couldn't deal with hitting at two a.m. He retreated, but only to regroup.

* * *

Ah, the red was back in full force. Aya must have had another shower before work since his hair was currently doing its utmost to clash with his orange sweater. The pink roses weren't helping either.

Approaching the worktable, Yohji was about to plop himself down beside Aya when the other got up and walked away without a word.

Antisocial little bastard. Not to be so easily ignored, Yohji followed. He trailed Aya to the cooler, gathering his thoughts while the swordsman put away his finished arrangement, only to have him walk away again the minute he went to open his mouth. With a roll of his eyes, Yohji pursued.

This time they were headed to the register (where the blonde ought to have been stationed). Without a word, Aya assumed the post, propping himself stiffly on the stool behind the register. Here, Yohji decided to be quick; planting both palms on the counter, he leaned over it to speak.

"Question."

"Hn."

"Why won't you let me see?"

"Because it's none of your business."

"But it is my business." He leaned a little closer, assuming his best suggestive leer; Aya ignored it.

"No, it's not."

"God damn it, just let me in your pants."

"Kudou, I don't let anyone else into my pants unless they intend to make themselves useful there."

Okay, that he hadn't been expecting that, but he could work with it.

"Deal."

"What?"

For the first time, Yohji felt he had Aya's full attention; it was a good sign.

"What if I make it worth your while?"

It wasn't quite a glare leveled at him, and Yohji basked in the wavering curiosity.

"You know I can, Aya."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You do me a personal favor. No shaving for two weeks," he smiled as the glare returned full force. "Then, you take down your pants and I make it worth your while."

"You're crazy."

"And you're horny. I can tell."

"Leave me alone, Kudou."

"That's not a denial."

"I thought it would be self-evident."

"It's not."

"Try this."

* * *

Yohji rubbed the knot on his head, wondering how his finely honed instincts had completely failed him. This, however, was still secondary to wonder how to know once and for all. He needed inspiration, and so he went to get a beer.

Over the next two weeks, Yohji embarked on a number of improbable plans; and while he didn't learn whether or not Aya dyed his hair, he did learn a number of other things.

For example, if a person was to remove the blades from each and every razor Aya owned, said person was likely to be awoken at the ungodly hour of six a.m. (a time at which, apparently, some people shaved), and the waking was most likely to be accomplished by said person being shoved off their bed. After gratuitous yelling, their blankets might be taken in retaliation. Yohji had lost his favorite bath towel, his name brand cologne, and an expensive ashtray to similar bouts of experimentation. Really, his relationship with Aya had degraded into a fraternity house war.

Now, though, Aya was losing patience. He had taken to simply hitting Yohji the moment he suspected the blonde was up to something. While his shoulder, Aya's favorite target, was a motley shade of blue, Yohji was enjoying the other man's reactions, not so much the hitting part, but the confused, almost nervous moments just before that. Besides, now he really had to know. If Aya was working so hard to hide it, he had to be lying.

Maybe.

* * *

In the end, it was a mission. As hard as Aya tried to blame Yohji for his sprained wrist, he couldn't quite defend the accusation. Besides, he was busy being pissed at Manx, who (with Yohji's encouragement), had, while Aya was still unconscious, instructed the doctor to put a hard cast on his wrist, insisting that he wouldn't let it rest otherwise. So, Aya woke up, instantly freaked out by the hospital and within minutes was yelling at Manx and demanding Omi to take him home. Yohji got only a passing glare as Aya clutched his injured wrist to his chest and stalked out of the hospital.

The next week had been unpleasant. Aya was in a foul mood, finding himself unable to either practice with his sword or arrange his flowers. Much to Yohji's amusement, despite his ability to kill people with either hand, the redhead didn't seem to be ambidextrous, and common tasks like writing, eating, and picking up delicate objects were frustrating to him. And, in Yohji's figuring, if he was having trouble aiming a pair of chopsticks at a dumpling, there was no way in hell Aya would risk getting a razor near his swimsuit zone.

Yohji had waited patiently, ceasing and desisting any and all attempts to get Aya naked, partly because with Aya already disgruntled, these were likely to get him seriously injured, but mostly because he had a new master plan. In order to enact it, though, Aya had to be fully convinced that he had given up.

So Yohji played distracted. It wasn't hard. He chased after a cute blonde for a few days, not sure what to do with her once he caught her. She was too flighty, even for him. They went out to the movies, but he came back spinning tales of fantastic positions achieved in the backseat of his car. Aya wasn't the least interested, but Ken eventually told him to shut up. After that, he had gone after an older woman. She was all of thirty-two and knew how to play hard to get; plus, she had enough money to show up and buy flowers, allowing Yohji to play fascinated lover in front of Aya.

Occasionally he wondered if he was putting too much effort into his attempt, especially when he realized he hadn't gotten laid in two weeks and that he had spent most of that thinking about his teammate.

But Yohji wasn't one to dwell on the drives behind his desires. Not that he desired Aya; what he craved was information. He told himself this as he plotted. Aya wasn't letting him see something, and he wanted to see it; it couldn't matter less that the something happened to be a naked Aya.

After three weeks of normal Yohji behavior and sufficient distraction courtesy of his cast (which only Manx's dire threats had kept him from cutting off with a kitchen knife), Aya had apparently forgotten their previous exchanges, or at least relegated them to the offensive-but-not-currently-deserving-of-homicide category. Not that they were on friendly terms, but injured, Aya wasn't on friendly terms with anyone.

Reaching up, Yohji pulled down the shutter and locked it at the bottom. It was one of the chores at work he enjoyed, mostly because Aya couldn't do it without standing on something and he could, barely.

"That was rough," Ken decided, leaning back against the counter. Omi nodded solemnly.

"How did we used to do this without Aya?" he questioned.

"No idea, but I'll be glad when he gets that thing off." With a sigh, Ken went to get the broom. There was a certain general animosity against the cast, maybe caught from Aya who, despite his developing ability to work with his left hand, absolutely refused to take on certain tasks while it was on and people were watching. For someone who usually couldn't give a flying fuck what anyone thought of him, he seemed direly afraid of being embarrassed.

While the shop hadn't necessarily suffered from Aya's injury, the workers certainly had. Not only did they have to cover the large, special-order arrangements Aya usually handled, but they had to keep the window displays fresh. These were looking notably more mundane than usual, and they hadn't sold one. Besides that, there were the collection of little chores that Aya personally oversaw. He stocked the ribbons and kept the books and told Ken when to wash the windows. Now, though, he spent most of his shifts hiding out in the greenhouse, citing that he couldn't do much more than sit around in the shop.

It was coming to an end though. Manx had called, and while Yohji hadn't been up to going and getting Aya, he had taken the message. Whether the healing time was done or Manx had finally succumbed to Aya's complaints, he had an appointment the following morning to remove the cast.

He could have delivered this news when Aya walked in the back door to help them close shop, but he didn't. No, he waited. When they had cleaned, sorted, and restocked, Yohji stood near the center of the room and stretched, extending the motion long enough to draw the attention of the others.

"Gods, I'm stiff," he decided, not at all scripted. Now, if he could get Omi to—

"It's been a long week, Yohji-kun." Perfect.

"You know what we need, chibi?" he asked in the most innocuous tone he could muster, "A trip to an onsen!"

"That sounds perfect! We could close tomorrow and spent the weekend in an inn!" Instantly enthusiastic, Omi fell headfirst into his trap.

"Ken?" Yohji polled.

"I'm in," he agreed, never one to turn down a trip. "They shouldn't be too crowded this time of year."

"Aya?" Yohji turned to the swordsman who had been doing his best to ignore the entire conversation. "You in?"

"No," Aya stated simply, taking off his apron (only a little awkward) and hanging it up.

"But Aya-kun," Omi turned to look at him, "It'll be fun. And good for the team."

Aya shook his head, and the barrage continued. Yohji hung back and let it happen, let Ken and Omi wheedle Aya down into submission. Okay, it didn't quite work that way, but they did badger him enough to make him angry. Finally, he snapped, offering a full sentence in his defense.

"Even if I wanted to go, I couldn't!" he glared at Omi, lifting his right wrist as if it bore a hideous disfigurement rather than a simple cast.

"Oh." Omi looked stricken, genuinely sad, but before he could respond Yohji stepped in, destined to save the day.

"No worries!" Risking bodily harm, he threw an arm over Aya's shoulders, feeling the smaller man stiffen beneath it. Aya's eyes were hard, his left hand drawn into a fist that Yohji thought was destined for his healing shoulder. "Don't hit, Aya," he instructed, using his free hand to snag Aya's and feeling the fist tighten under his long fingers. "Use your words."

"Kudou—"

"Listen, Manx called; you're getting it off tomorrow, then we can all go to the onsen!"

~tbc~

Notes: Is a naked Aya in Yohji's future? Will he get what he wants, and will he know what to do with it if he does?


End file.
